From castles stolen from fairy tales
To yarns of vanquished monsters and demons,
I can spin a tale in a moment’s notice.
Emotional trauma, battle wounds
Or the perpetual search for purpose,
All find a place in my written word.
The forbidden fruit
Or the lovers’ squabble;
From broken hearts
To mended fences,
All add rhythm
To this man’s poetry.
I write to tell my story
Only to find that these are stories,
You have heard before.
Be it some poet from some distant land,
An old wife’s tale,
Or most likely your humanity,
Fetch no fresh gasp or appeal.
Perhaps the failed legacy of this writer
That despite the difference
Of religion, race or times,
Our stories are stories
That we have all heard before.
By Anirudh Dalmia
Painting by MG